sample-金狐传-03The-Weight-of-Gold-202606122030
The funeral was small because the dead man had been small. Not in stature—Frank O'Brien had been a big man, broad-shouldered from years of pouring concrete—but small in the way that men who live among other men tend to be. Nobody knew much about him except that he worked, drank, came home, and repeated. His six sons stood in a line at the graveside: Jim at sixty-two, Bill at fifty-nine, Charlie...
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